Archive for the ‘writing’ Category

Anagrams a go-go

In ozstraylia, writing on February 22, 2010 at 9:05 am




So I  succeeded in making a nine letter word out of the words above can you guess what it is yet? A prize for the person/s who can also make a nine letter word out of those letters, and whoever makes the same word as I did, hopefully they are the same.

Won a free coffee, I’ll make sure your prize is better than that, and manager of bar seemed rather surprised that I’d come up with a word that contained all the letters, so was I actually, it helped pass the time waiting for the thunderstorm to pass.

They get proper big droplets of rain here, swollen, rotund, fecund, corpulent, rubenesque raindrops. Raindrops that smack you upside of the head and face when you raise your eyes to the sky, heavy hitting raindrops. Cooling the air raindrops.

Tried to sit out the storm and avoid getting soaked to the skin but couldn’t do it. Had to get somewhere and braved the slowing but still persistent downpour. Got a soaking wet, should have put on the mudguard arse, and before you ask I do have one just didn’t figure on the rain, raining for most of the day so didn’t fit it, also the aesthete in me doesn’t like the look of bikes with mudguards so I prefer to be without.

But riding in the rain isn’t too bad here, you still get wet but it feels like a wetter version of sweating profusely, ad even as your top dampens, you know once you stop cycling and get under covers the heat will dry everything out in half an hour or so.

But standing around for that half an hour waiting for your soggy arse to dry out isn’t the nicest feeling in the world.

One good thing about Australia in the wet is because of the big permanent awnings they have on the main shopping streets is that you can walk along out of the rain, ad stay relatively dry, until you need to cross the road or there’s a break in the continuous awning for an old building, which is pretty cool…

Just hoping the rains done for the evening so I don’t get a soggy arse on the way back south from Carlton.

Bar thoughts

In out and about, ozstraylia, writing on February 22, 2010 at 8:56 am

Southpaw, Gertrude St, Fitzroy

I sit in a bar the air conditioning cooling me as much as the chilled bottle placed on the back of my neck moments previously. Held there for deliciously long seconds. Watching the people pass by framed by the window, dressed up, dressed down, hardly dressed at all.

Women pass a bounce in their stride, eyes dark lensed, hair up, neck exposed, wonder if they’ve cooled themselves with a cold bottle to the back of the neck as well. Arms bare, legs bare, resolutely untanned, black vest and pants? in this weather, desire to appear thinner, stronger than being cool? Even see an appearance from the dreaded sun dress over trousers – is not thirty degrees hot enough to show the flesh that you stand upon.

The sun makes long shadows as it settles lower in the sky, cyclists pass by helmets worn like berets, seats too low, knees by their ears, chains rusty and brown, a dirty sanchez across their ankles.

Empty bottles litter the bar, music, female voice and a twanging guitar mix with the burble of predominently female voices, laughter sprinkled intermittently into it. Voices raised as a plate is lost to gravity, ratttling across the tiled floor.

Smell my own sweat, honest toil of cycling exertion, set into the fabric. Wonder at the amount of moisture a body can produce, will I keep producing it indefinitely?

Rub hand through non existent hair and know it’s time to cut it, trim it until the rest of my scalp shows through, irritated by the wisps on my upper lip, and know they will have to go as well.

Turn back to the window and wait for someone else to pass by who will pique my interest…

we apologise for the delay

In japan, travelling, writing on February 17, 2010 at 1:36 pm

just a quick note to let you know I’ve been without internet access for the last couple of days for a number of reasons, and trying to find a free wireless hotspot in melbourne, without spending money in mickey d’s or starbucks is nigh on impossible (why have your wireless network named after your business, but when I ask for the password, tell me you don’t have one, or have a wireless network, which isn’t actually connected to the internet) so even though I wrote these posts about a week ago, uploading and naming photo’s took an age and then the interwebs went down and I had some emails to reply to, some sun to swan about in, and a bike to ride up and down swanston st.

anyway the last (pretty much) of the tokyo/japan posts follow this one and the ozstraylia ones will following fairly shortly after that.

so sorry for the delay, thanks for holding in there, and hopefully the posts that come next make up for it.

Pictures or it didn’t happen

In japan, travelling, writing on January 18, 2010 at 4:34 pm

I’m in yoyogi park, the place where the Japanese rockabilly’s prance and preen to the garage rock tunes that kicked it back in the 50’s and 60’s. Leather jackets, oiled quiffs and shades covering their eyes. They dance and strut and people come and take photo’s.  Tourists gawk and snap away and the rockabilly’s are eager enough to be a part of it, to a certain extent prostitute themselves for the camera. I should take a photo but I can’t because I don’t want to do what everyone is doing (because I’m contrary like that) and maybe because they won’t be any good (every creative person has doubts about their ability, the constant questioning is what makes it worthwhile when you come up with something decent), but also because I don’t want to be like those that document everything yet see nothing. So wrapped up in the need to take that photograph, that they fail to enjoy the thing that they’ve come to see.

You know the ones that spend the whole night standing in front of you with their arm in the air, mobile phone clutched in their hand, trying to take photos or record their favourite song, recording a memento of their journey to, and participation in, this event and the only way it can be communicated to others is to show them the grainy images of someone far away whose face you cannot quite see and who are god knows where.

So I’ve only got a couple of photos of yoyogi park. Think of it as just one big rehearsal space, a tokyo’s got talent speakers corner, everyone gets a chance to do their thing, whether they be good or bad, or just plain ridiculous. Digeridoo players, stood behind public toilet blocks to get the proper acoustics, jugglers throwing objects between themselves, saxophone players practising “somewhere over the rainbow” alone in the wooded areas.
I even saw a man pretending to catch a baseball game, complete with calling signs, grabbing pitches out of the dirt and exhortations to non existent team mates as he filmed himself.
So I’ve taken some photo’s, actually I’m taking more photo’s than I’ve taken for a while, as part of my new; take a photo everyday whilst I’m travelling campaign. But for right now I’m trying to make the claim that a good couple of paragraphs of writing outweigh a shitty cameraphone pic. And that argument would be kind of destroyed if I posted up some photo’s with this post wouldn’t it.
So how am I doing so far? Is the power of the written word and my prose style keeping you interested and intrigued enough to keep coming back for more, until I find that missing camera cable and am able to upload some pictures of buildings and my feet upto flickr and then to here.

Or will you bail out with a dismissive sweep of the hand at the screen and utter the words “pictures or it didn’t happen”. If they remake the life of christ, this is what all those who don’t see the miracles should say when word of it comes to them. “Pictures or it didn’t happen”

fear is the mindkiller

In travelling, writing on January 12, 2010 at 10:31 pm

found this on an old post it, feels very prescient at this point, in the middle of my last few days in london, with too much to do, and too little time, packing (rather dumping the last of my things in various boxes, because I have no time to sort them) stuff up, and trying not to let the nervous knots in my stomach cause me to be paralyzed by what needs to be done.

fear is the mind killer

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.